Hunter's Moon: Last Dance
by Feirdra
Summary: When the moon smiles, the hunter roams abroad. The night of the Yule Ball; a tainted twist on reality. Draco/Harry, with a dash of dark chocolate.


**~) Hunter's Moon (~**

**-Last Dance-**

==========

He never even saw it coming.

It all began and ended the night of the Yule Ball. How appropriate. The hour of his greatest glory, become his ultimate downfall.

The moon was bright that night. Oh, how she shone! Touching all with the radiance of clean bone, a naked plain of unearthly beauty. As I accosted him in the gardens, the neatly trimmed hedges and chiseled stone took on a life of their own, rising unfamiliar in the still night, softened and yet their lines clearer than I've ever seen them. Otherworldly.

His hair was tussled, rumpled black. Those distinctive green eyes glimmered, like an open book, an invitingly empty-full house with a wide-open door, somewhat unsettled behind the twin moonspawn dancing wildly in his glasses. He is nervous, jittery; a clatter of breaking glass in the calm serenity of the night, and the moonlight swallowing the lake. Apparently he'd been having a tiff with the Weasley creature. Fiery, that one, spirited, but crude. Like an unpolished wooden table, full of wanton splinters.

And suspicious, of course. Much more suspicious than this one.

"What do you want with me, _Malfoy_?" His tone is not malicious; he sounds weary. Perhaps what I have in store will wake him yet.

I lick my lips, slowly, slowly, and relish the unchecked savagery of a predatory grin, in anticipation of what is to come. He backs up a little, wary, and with good reason. My fangs feel so very sharp tonight… "Nothing too difficult for you, I hope… _Potter_."

I turn and walk away along the colonnaded balustrade, running my hand lightly over its rough, pitted surface that glitters endlessly with every step like a thousand scintillating beetle's eyes. The subtle perfume of a faceless flower is just perceptible in the breeze, and I can feel my body swaying gracefully to the night's song, a thousand different little sounds melding smoothly in rhythm. He follows; I can feel his faint warmth distantly at my back.

_Curious, are we?_ I smirk to myself, knowing. Knowing he can't resist. Poor, ignorant mortality. I lean against the cool stone, waiting. A hunter must know when to wait, though I stalk easy prey.

"Look, I really don't have the time for this." I tilt my head, a smile tugging at my lips. Amusing critter. He looks decidedly harried now. Ah, the tragic flaw of humanity; always, _always_ in such a big, dusty hurry. "So why don't you just go away and badger me some other time?"

"Ooh, what's the big hurry?" I can feel his uneasiness now, palpable, hanging. The only sound in the still air is the chirping of the crickets in their hidden niches within the rosebushes. "Patience is a virtue, you know."

A pause. His eyes are darting every which way, a tiny flicker of motion, but to my eyes, they speak volumes. Or as much as such simplicity can speak, anyway… What to do, what to do…

"Just what do you think you're playing at?" The animal is cornered, the hunter closing in…

Play, eh? So he has entered the game. Beware of the game, Potter, especially when you don't know the rules, and your adversary holds all the cards. I can't help but chuckle. He is utterly at sea, a blind fish just asking to be reeled in. This is almost too easy.

"So you want to play, do you? Well, I can accommodate that…" He cries out in surprise at the feeling of my fingers slipping into his, interlacing, interlocking, entwined in ice-encrusted fire. Just as quickly, I pull away, leaving him to gasp at the fleeting, blinding sensations as my other hand darts out, dips into his pocket, retrieves a crumpled piece of parchment… "Catch me if you can."

With that, I am gone. Running in the night, the wind biting, whistling in my ears, free, leaping down the vast steps lightly as a gazelle, soaring, free… Intangible and untouchable. Catch me if you can. Reach out and grab the wind itself, if you can.

"H-hey! That's mine! Give it _here_!"

A laugh is torn from my throat, shredded away by the howl of northerly claws. Entirely too easy.

==

I lay in wait for him among the looming shadows of the sweet-scented pines, my nose buried deep in the deliciously moist fragrance of the colorful carpet littering the forest floor. Echoes of long-ago laughter haunt my ears, rustling sounds of joyous roll and play fading into whispering nothingness. An old, old wood, is the Forbidden Forest, great ancient trees with heaving, towering roots inextricably entangled, the gnarled old battlements of long-gone fortifications standing lonely, decrepit testimony to all those years. More has lurked here over the ages, than the narrow-minded, sun-blinded fools up in the castle could ever imagine…

Timidly, he tiptoes into the hallowed silence. Understandable. This is wild territory, and foreign ground for him. This, however, is also my home field.

"Malfoy!" A soft call. "Malfoy, you've had your fun, _please_ come out now. Please?"

In my hiding place, snugly nestled in the crook of the embrace of a resin-redolent pine, I have to raise an eyebrow. Begging already? Perhaps he is not all I had thought him to be.

"Malfoy?" I cannot hold back a laugh this time, at that weak little tremble in the voice that has rung out in defiance a thousand times. _This_, then, is the true face of the Boy Who Lived? _This_ is the savior of the wizarding world, this scared little boy, afraid of a little musty dark and damp? And all, all for a useless, illegible letter. Gone now. Buried beneath centuries of pine needle.

I no longer have any reason to watch and wait, so I get to my feet and, after a good long lazy stretch, round the corner. Funny expression, that. I lean fully against the deeply grooved root, molding the supple length of my body to the irregularities in the old, crackling bark.

"Well, well, took you long enough." He jumps as though stung, and whirls around, wand tip coming to rest sharply on me, quivering uncontrollably. "Jumpy, aren't we? Afraid of the dark?"

"N-no." His entire countenance says otherwise, even as he slowly, doubtfully lowers the wand. Even from this distance, I can see the whiteness of his knuckles, the tendons in his hand straining from gripping the wand with an almost painful tightness beyond all reason.

"Well, that can be remedied." In one fluid motion, I am just before him now, so close our breaths mingle in foggy puffs, rising, wispy smoke signals. He starts and backs away only to find himself pressed against the slender yet very solid trunk of a springy young sapling. It almost catapults him forward.

"W-what do you mean?" The tremble again. I sigh, shaking my head at the confusion illuminating those bright green eyes. Walk right into the trap with your eyes wide open, won't you? His eyes widen further as my arms slip around his waist, trapping him more effectively than rope possibly could. Hmmm, rope… Possibilities… But first things first. And Harry Potter has just asked a very good question.

His body goes rigid in my impromptu embrace as I lean forward, very nearly cheek to cheek, the nearness tickling sensuously across our jaws; I can feel him quivering. Muscles ripple almost invisibly under my touch, yet firm and liquid-quick. We've both played a lot of Quidditch this summer.

He has just begun to relax the smallest fraction when my whisper blows softly across the infinitesimal distance between us, my lips literally a hair's breadth from his ear. His hair is a mess, to be sure, but softer in a twisted lock's delicate caress than silk itself. "There are worse things in the Forbidden Forest, Potter, more deadly than snakes and spiders combined…"

He freezes in shock; a perfect position for my assault.

The moon, shining so very brightly, shafts down through the thick canopy, ghostly beams silently blessing our tryst.

==

"Mmm, Draco," he sighs, stretched out in soft and utter content, calm now, one with the night. We are both of the wilderness, tonight. One still-clumsy hand, rough yet infinitely gentle in its tenderness, buries itself in my hair.

"Draco, now?" I mumble, concentrating on the steady, pulsing beat of his heart, a slowing, lulling rhythm. A downright ferocious attacker, this one. Insatiable, to say the least. My appetite, but not my hands, stilled long ago. "A night of wonders, this."

"Indeed." He chuckles sleepily, bringing his head down for another velvety sweet kiss, precious as the moss of our bed.

My hand flits silently upward, him taking in a sharp breath at the sudden feel of icy fingers against his scalp. Lightly, ever so lightly, I trace down the dark ridge of the lightning bolt scar on his forehead, remembering so much with just that one touch…

"Beware, Harry, beware." I hear myself whisper, my fingers playing along of their own volition amidst the tousled midnight forelocks. I have never, _never_ given warning. And yet… "_Coups de foudre_ are dangerous, dangerous things…"

He merely smiles, that boyish-bright, gullible smile stretching garishly from ear to ear, sharing the joke only he sees.

He never sees the cold flash, the chilling, sudden reflection of the stars, blotted out by the castle lights and then mostly by the curtain of leaves swaying to and fro, whispering, whispering their secrets above us. Not even the arcing, glistening trail of a shooting star, frozen in time against my eyelids as I close them against the sudden hotness cupping my cheek.

He is still smiling, the lovely, unhindered green eyes staring in seeming awe towards the star-dusted vaulting heavens above, even as I rise, slipping the knife from its bloody, fleshy sheath between his ribs. Something crunches crisply beneath my foot. Those glasses never did much for his beautiful, beautiful eyes anyway.

A cold finger, so cold, steals across the fine blade of the blood-drenched knife, a fine line of paper-thin, needling intensity, and, tracing the cooling scarlet warmth on my cheek, trails over my lips, coating them with a last crimson promise. On my knees beside him, I lean down for one final, lingering kiss, sipping of the bittersweet taste his mouth offers as a parting gift. His eyes are closed.

"Good night, Harry. Sleep well… my love."

Parting is such sweet sorrow, yet the moon smiles on so brightly.

==##==

**Dedication:**

To Fate, who elevates evil to an art form, and who inspired this story to begin with.

**A/N: **Um, wow. 0.o The brainchild of a weird mood generated by a Digimon fic, of all things, boredom, desperate measures for homework avoidance and lack of sleep. It's about 12:30 AM. ^-^ I have no idea why exactly I wrote this… thing/idea. Draco/Harry, as y'all can see. With a touch of… I dunno what. 0.o Too many angst/insanity fics. My Harry Potter shorts all seem to end up really weird. This is the first I've written in a year or so, so be gentle if something needs correction. But I really hope y'all don't flame me to death. *crosses fingers* Bring on the reviews!

**Terms:**

_Coup de foudre_ – Blow of lightning, taken literally; means something like love at first sight.

**Ending Note:** Looking back, I just realized I wrote a quasi-vampiric fic without even knowing it. 0.o I know nothing about vampires so… more corrections! . It was so much _fun_, though!

*purrs* I feel so _deliciously_ sadistic now…

Everyone within hearing range: O_O *back away sloooooowly*

**And the Almighty Authoress leaves you with… "REVIEW!!!"**


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